Nuclear Nonsense
by Queen Horker
Summary: A Commonwealth-ruined chem addict starts a journey of revenge. Judith, the main character, did not come from a vault or pre-war times. She came from a place of pain and suffering and battles this throughout the whole story. I wrote this for NaNoWriMo, so it isn't polished, but I hope you'll still enjoy a taste of a Fallout 4 story not including the Sole Survivor. (No romance)
1. On the Homefront

Goodneighbor is home, it always was. It might smell like spoiled milk and strong liquor but it reflects its inhabitants perfectly. It isn't rare for a visitor to find a gun pointed at their head as soon as they walk into our shabby war-torn streets and then find their pockets looted for all the chems and caps on their person. Underneath the intimidating garb of Goodneighbor's atmosphere lies authentic pre-war culture and most importantly, music. Jazz is the soundtrack to my adopted hometown's daily crimes. Magnolia, that name even sounds angelic, and her ear-pleasing voice makes me wonder how someone as alluring and packed with a personality like hers even came into this hell of a world. She's a rarity that any wastelander would be hard pressed to find a dupe of. It seems that every night I always end up back in the same place, in this pisswater producing bar, getting smashed on jet and whiskey, Magnolia's melodies becoming the anthem to my not giving a shit about what happens to my chem addicted body.

I've realized by now though that the menu and music aren't what keeps me coming back, it's that old "You're only here if you're trying to forget" crowd. Talking about your past is more than taboo here, and the only thing that junkpile of a Mr. Handy running this bar wants to talk about is booze and caps, my two favorite topics. Whitechapel Charlie is what he calls himself nowadays, but the only think you could get out of him about the days before now is how many times he's smashed bottles over any overly curious drifters' heads. He's no criminal, but he sure isn't a sweetheart.

That's better than what can be said about his trigger-happy customers. Holding your cap stash close isn't just a precaution, it's a necessity. Any of these crazy mercs would pull a switchblade on you just as soon as drunkenly cry about their BS sob-worthy backstories on your metal-plated shoulder. I never leave home without my best friend, Skullcracker. He's an aluminum plated baseball bat with two razor-sharp sawblades on both sides of the end of it, crafted by yours truly. Raiders and Deathclaws alike have found their end with just a few carefully placed, rock hard hits to their person. Carrying him on my back lets everyone wanting to rob me of my honestly, ill-earned caps, know not to mess around with me just as well as a "piss off" tattoo on the back of some buff meathead's neck. Not only am I well armed, but I've racked up the closest thing to respect around here, a reputation for bashing anyone's brains out for 20 caps flat.

Sitting at the bar of The Third Rail like this brings a sense of readiness for anything that comes around, but without skills and a neverending hyperawareness, you're nothing around here but a target for heartless butchers not much unlike myself. I'm passed by a Gunner Corporal, that signature white-starred green combat armor clinging to his near disgustingly buff chest. I spot a ridiculous "A+" tattoo stamped on his obnoxiously large forehead. I let out a small scoff as he passes by. He turns abruptly to face me; a murderous scowl viciously decorates his classical "look at me I'm a douchebag" face.

"What are you laughing at, miss bitchy princess?" he snorts, slamming his calloused hand on the bar. I blink slowly and turn my head towards his face in a sarcastic no-fucks-given manner.

"What an accurate and well-deserved title, mister I eat raw eggs for breakfast in front of my jock friends but vomit them out later behind the dumpster because I'm secretly a worthless pussy." I stretch a wide grin across my face while his dumbass processes my words and get up from my rusty chair. I blow a kiss at the corporal while I start to leave the bar. I then turn towards the exit, swaying my hips widely in motion to the music. My catwalk is interrupted by those disgusting hands grasping my throat, clenching tighter and tighter with every beat of his pulse against my neck. The music stops in rhythm with his actions, and my desperate choking sounds fill the room. Everyone just stares, motionless. I struggle to knee him in the crotch, but my lightheadedness prevents any action from being more than a jerked movement. Everything starts to go black when I hear a muffled line breaking through my reality. All of a sudden the corporal's grip loosens until there's nothing but a throbbing pain encasing my throat. I fall forward into a ripped jacket detailed with lace and patriotic colors, the skin that catches my fall is near rotted and abrasively rough, but still the most comforting texture I've ever known.

"Hancock," I mutter. The old Ghoul laughs, squeezing my abused body with an almost protective embrace.

"What's wrong Judith, did you forget how to watch your ass around here?" he releases me from his comfort and stares at my bruised neck. He reaches out and softly brushes one of his radiation-ruined fingers against my wound. Those somewhat creepy pitch black eyes look into mine with worry. His face turns from sorry to angry and he releases me, turns to the bar, then uses one of the bar stools to pull himself up on the bar counter. He stands to face the crowd, "Patrons of my lowly establishment, listen up. If I catch any of you motherfuckers messing around with this woman ever again, you'll end up just like our beloved previous mayor." he flashes a cruel smile to the deplorable crowd and jumps off the bar top. The useless doorman, Ham, rushes downstairs clutching his fedora to his bald head.

"I heard a gunshot, am I too late?" he huffed, short of breath. Ham's gaze wandered towards the dead gunner's body, "Oh." he whispered, seemingly mortified.

"Fashionably," Hancock responded in his raspy voice, mimicking my earlier sarcastic tone with the now dead corporal. "Why don't you take out the trash while you're here, it seems distasteful to enjoy a drink next to a fresh corpse." he winks and nods at Ham, the bouncer nods back in mutual understanding, moving over to the cadaver in cautious strides. He picks up the gunner's body, moving one arm under his legs, and the other under his armpits. He lifts the dead man with a single "harrumph" and carries him upstairs out of sight, everyone's eyes following his journey. Hancock looks towards Magnolia and shouts "Is this a bar or a funeral home? Start up the music and let our fine drinkers have their peace in drowning their sorrows!" The singer nods to Whitechapel to start up the music and the jazzy atmosphere is restored.

Hancock leans towards me and whispers, "Why don't we get out of this shit-show and get some chems in your system?"

I smile and laugh just a little, "I'd love that."

Hancock and I leave The Third Rail and my recent incident behind. We make our way to the Hotel Rexford and right as he opens the door, that choking stale Rexford air penetrates my nostrils. I can still smell the obnoxious scent burnt hair from Fred Allen's last experimental chem creations. Directly in front of me, there's my best Protectron friend, Drinkin' Buddy. He might be rusted and every step he takes makes the room echo with his hard mechanical clunks, but he still makes the most warming yet ice cold Gwinnett Pale this side of the apocalypse, and unfortunately, the most horrible puns to ever grace my ears. About a year ago some Vault-Dweller brought him in for Rufus Rubins, the guy in charge of drinks at the hotel. The washed up jackass said he found him in some basement of an old taphouse, and he was asking to be delivered to the Hotel Rexford. Rufus took Buddy off his hands for only 300 caps, ridiculous. I'd have kept him for myself at that price, more free booze for me. The pre-war robot slowly turns towards me,

"Greetings, Bud-dy, would you like to wet your whis-tle or did you come for a laugh?" he says in his broken monotone voice. No matter how annoying that line is, it's always my favorite.

"I'll take a beer." I place my hand on my hip as he dishes out a Pilsner. The noise as it hits the metal serving tray always satisfied me. He relays his programmed dialog with an "Enjoy" and clanks away back to his messy little corner bar. I stare down the neck of the bottle, some guy ripping off Hancock's outfit but with long greasy hair is right in the center of the label. I pop open the drink with my handy belt and hold it up to my ear. The delicate fizz fills my body with a desire to chug the whole thing in one sitting, so I do. Glugging down the last drops of the perfectly balanced between sweet and malt drink I can't help but let out a small, "Ahh". Hancock stares and asks with a light tone,

"Thirsty?"

"You have no idea how much I needed that." he chortles softly and walks over to Fred and hands him a bag of caps, soon there's another larger bag in his hand, and I know exactly what that means. I saunter over to the front desk and retrieve my key from the proprietor. I don't have to pay for my room being the Mayor's closest friend and all. I make my way upstairs, and Hancock follows suit. I reach my door right next to the horrifically broken elevator and I'm soon greeted by my nearly hairless cat, Cappy, of course, named after the famed Nuka World mascot. He brushes his soft, fluffy head against my rough, dirt-covered legs.

"What've you been doing while I was gone, my little troublemaker?" I say in a babying tone. He meows and I get down on one knee to pet him. He purrs and my hand makes contact with his fur-less back.

"You still got that rat?" Hancock bitches from behind me.

"He isn't a rat, he's a waste-hardened kitty," I joke, hugging his body."Isn't he so rude?" I coddle. Hancock rolls his eyes and enters my room, flopping onto my sheet-less, moldy bed. He takes out a cigarette and lights it. "Hey, don't go having fun without me just because I have a crazy cat lady streak." I flop just as he did right next to him. I slightly cuddle his welcoming body, leaning all my stress on him, he raises a brow,

"Ghouls don't make good pillows you know."

"Today was particularly shitty, and every once and a while you just gotta get those hardcore cuddles while on hardcore drugs." laughing, he scoots closer and places his cigarette in front of my mouth, signaling an offer of a hit, I lean forward and inhale the warm smoke, letting it go deep into my lungs until finally blowing out a large stream as Hancock tapped the ash onto my floor, classy. There're some nights where I feel like overdosing is a pretty good option, maybe just shoot up so much psycho that I forget who I am and everything that ever happened to me and become some crazed violent lunatic, or inhale enough jet to make time stop forever. Every time I try to get over some event another one comes up to punch me in the face, sometimes literally. I'm not without my scars but I'd rather avoid making new ones. Living in hell every day makes horrors difficult to get away from.

Just as my depressed self-monologue ends Hancock hands me something that always makes life better, Day-Tripper. That drug makes you lose sight of everything that ever hurt you, sending you into a state of "just be". I rip the bottle of happy pills from his hand and twist off the cap furiously. Popping five in my mouth I chase them down with a swig of whiskey off my nightstand. I lay back and wait for the effect to set in. There's a certain rush waiting for your life to fall apart. The drug fills my body with an ultimate calm, every muscle relaxes, every bad thought leaves, I am free. Hancock takes the bottle out of my hand and takes some himself without thinking. We sat there, totally fucked up, without a care in the world. It feels good and for the first time in years, it feels like I can finally be at peace. I close my eyes for just a second as the day turns into night, and fall into a deep sleep unlike any other I've ever experienced.

I am rudely awakened by the sound of gunshots, my small body shakes with every breath. My first thought goes to my parents, are they alive and safe? I jump out from under my covers to see fire consuming all my family ever created, every crop, every hour spent trying to pull our life together, gone. I waste no time on tears and look to my door. My mother screams, every window shatters, and the soulless pounding of heavy metal enters my family farmhouse. Frantic shrieks echo around the building as I rush into the hallway, nobody's there. I run into the entranceway to see a man seemingly made completely out of iron, tubes protruded out of his face leading to his chest which housed a large emblem of a sword and gears, encased in wings, his metal arms lifting my father by the collar. Without a single thought, I rush to his aid, slamming my foot the metal man's legs with all the strength I could muster screaming,  
"Leave my father alone!" he kicks me in the rib, sending me flying and causing a slight cracking noise, I grasp my side, the intense pain disabling any action other than crying. and my father hits the ground, soon a gun is pointed right at his temple, "No!" I attempt to shout, but the bullet has already hit its target. All I can do is stare until I begin to lose consciousness and everything goes black as the fire blazes around me.

I am wrenched back into reality, drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, my vision clears and I look to my right. Hancock is leaning over me, staring at me with a caring expression.

"I-I wasn't watching you sleep or anything you were just shaking and I-."

"What? No, I don't care I have to kill every single Brotherhood Knight in the Commonwealth." Hancock's expression turns from caring so slightly melancholy, to melancholy to worried, and from worried to somewhat confused.

"What the hell? I might not have ears but I hope I haven't lost my hearing, you want to kill every. Single. Brotherhood Knight in the Commonwealth? Have all those chems rotted your brain?"

I huff like an edgy teen and roll my eyes, "This is serious, I've been trying to forget all this time without doing a single thing to get revenge. They killed my father, Hancock." His browbone raises,

"Well shit." is all he can find to say.

"I need to find some way to get them all at once, to lower the chances of being hunted down." Hancock pauses and places his hand on his chin while pondering my words.

"You could go after the Prydwen."

"What? That's ridi-wait, that's genius! I'd need to find a set of-" my words drift off to thoughts as I jump off the bed, pacing around my ruined room. "Hmm, yeah." I mutter, walking out the door, grabbing my gun and making my way downstairs, Hancock's "Wait, where are you going?" echoing at the top of the steps. I hear a quick rushing down the stairs as he runs up next to me.  
"You're not serious about this, are you? They'll be tracking you down for life."

"I'm definitely serious, and I'm going to the Atom Cats Garage to get a set of power armor." I shove open the door to the hotel and fast walk to the entrance of Goodneighbor. Just as I'm about to open the door I hear,

"Wait!" Hancock is by my side again, he looks in my eyes and says "Just don't get killed, okay?" I scoff and flip my ponytail, "I was born to die." and slam the door in his face before he can reply. The neon signs of Goodneighbor beckon me to come back and stay, forget any of this ever happened, but I can't, this is too important. I rush into the wastes, skeletal structures of long ruined buildings and desolation decorating my path. I'd really like to avoid getting blown apart by a super mutant suicider so I hide every so often, listening to my surroundings, dodging any meat sacks lingering about the commons. My new life starts now. I rush past the many piles of debris and scrap metal, never looking back for one second. I hear a group of particularly villainous group of mercs talking about their daily misdeeds,

"She bled like a stuck pig, got all over my jacket too. It was worth it, though, a thousand caps, all just for some revenge story." why pay someone to do your dirty work for you when you can do it better yourself? Seems dumb to me.

"Lucky bastard, I couldn't get that many caps even if I stood out on a corner and sold myself." the creeps laugh, I roll my eyes and avoid their voices.

Their vantage point is west, so I head north, even if the quickest way to the Cats' garage is south, it also happens to be the most dangerous route. I walk carelessly through the open; nobody would ambush me at night in the middle of one of the heaviest crime areas of the Commonwealth, right? I begin to walk even slower; something scurries in the distance to my right, and I let out a small but way too loud squeal. _Idiot_. A branch snaps directly behind me, and I realize something I should really be afraid of is lurking, I've been stalked my entire short journey, and I know I am about to become the victim of a kidnapping. I feel a hot sensation travel down my neck, breath. I know I shouldn't dare to turn around, but my curiosity gets the better of me, and I move my neck and torso at a snail's pace to my left. Soon I am face to face with a sick grin, the grin turns into a man, then a wooden board, he lifts it over his head quickly, inhaling rapidly, then exhaling and bringing it down over my skull. His grin becomes even wider, and my body becomes detached from all voluntary movement. I close my eyes and fall back as everything goes black.


	2. The Combat Zone

I come back into consciousness with a splitting headache encasing the entire back half of my skull. I can't see anything but dim light coming through a scratchy, dirt and blood covered sack that has been tied over my head. I try to move my arms to get myself off of the floor but a wave of pain hits as I try to move them, and the bonds are cutting into my flesh. I make a small squeaking noise as I attempt to roll over. I think I'm on my side stuffed in a corner. I kick to see if a wall is in front of me, making contact with a rotted wooden one. Rolling over, I kick in front of me again to see if the path is clear to attempt to get up. Right as I make contact a heavy box falls on my leg, I let out a small muffled scream as it crushes me, the pain radiates across my entire leg, I don't know if anything is broken but it's definitely marked in some way. I attempt to move once more but the pain cripples any attempt. I give up trying to make an escape and just sit there and whimper, trying to ignore the pain. I hear boots walking across the wooden floor that has been my prison. As the footsteps get closer, I listen to a male voice laugh. What would you have done, asshole? He lifts the box off of my body, and a wave of relief passes through me. He cuts the bonds binding my legs and arms together, as well as the ones wrapping around my ankles, but not the most painful around my wrist.

That relief is short lived, he abusively grasps my arms and yanks me to my feet. I struggle to break free but he continues to jerk me across the room. As I get farther from my corner, the roar of some crowd grows louder and louder. The ground starts to rumble, and I hear a metal door open. The man throws me to the ground and my knees hit the concrete floor hard. God, will the bruising ever end? I think to myself. The man pulls off the sack on my head, and I realize where I've been dumped. Some red-headed bitch is about ten feet away from me with her fists in the air, ready to strike. The man cuts my remaining bonds and runs out of the giant metal cage I know reside in, slamming the door behind him. I look to my right and see a collection of Raiders cheering and jeering, screaming "Kick her ass!" or "Split her lip!". I get to my feet best I can, every bone in my body aching.

Right as I rise, the red-head rushes at me, I try to dodge her best I can, but she hits me right in the face, a tingling pain surrounds my nose, and it begins to bleed. Her movements are erratic, nearing insanity. Without warning she comes at me again, I rush to the other side of the cage, the crowd screams, "Pussy!" ignoring them I keep running around the cage, dodging the madwoman's punches. "Just fucking sit still!" she says furiously. "Alright." I taunt, and as she comes at me once more, I block just before her fist makes contact, she's put off balance, and I grab her shoulder, kneeing her in the stomach and slamming my foot down her leg. "Shite." she huffs, breathless. Where would she get that dumbass Irish accent? There aren't any Irishmen for miles. While she's recovering, I slam my body into her, knocking her down. I get on top of her immediately, pinning down her arms with either of my legs. I raise my fist to punch her, "Wait!" she screams. I stop my hand mid-air. "I give up." she grudgingly huffs. I get off of her, and a 9 series of boos echo around the arena.

She puts up a middle finger to the crowd and walks away, as soon as she opens the door a ghoul with blonde hair saunters over to her location angrily,

"What the hell was that? You're not making me any money chickening out on me, little bird."

"Stop callin' me that, and I'm not yer bitch that you can just push around anymore." I don't know; it sure seems like it to me.

"Cait, stop with your independent bullshit, we need you. You're the best fighter in the Combat Zone." Combat zone? Is this some Raider-run fight club? How cute.

Cait snorts,"I was the best fighter, I'm quittin'." Little Miss Irish has an attitude, doesn't she?

I can't help but go "Ooooooo." The ghoul looks over at me but dismisses my sassy noise, continuing to argue with Cait.

"What're you going to do without me Cait? Shoot up Psycho till your head explodes?" Cait shoves past him and walks out.

The ghoul points at me and quickly walks towards me.

"You, you're going to work for me now, and if you don't, you'll get knocked over the head again by Jerrid, and left to the muties."

"Fuck that man, I do what I want when I want, and right now I want to get the hell out of here." I walk out of the cage, but instead of letting me leave, the Ghoul grabs me by my cut wrist and twists it, pulling me to face him.

"Listen here you cocky bitch; you ain't going anywhere until you make me richer than Mayor Mc Donough up in Diamond City. You got that?"

"I think I have some selfish Jackass up in my face; it's making me hard of caring." The ghoul nods to someone behind me, and yet again there's a blunt object slammed into the back of my head, vision goes hazy, and I fall to the floor.

My eyes open, and I realize I'm in the same position I was the first time I got dragged to this deplorable location, except this time that ho Cait is struggling madly next to me. This rotten wooden cell must be the holding cell for their "volunteer" fighters. The Irishwoman must have been done away with just like me. If she's one of the best in this place, and they can keep her holed up like this, then I'm never getting out. I relax and get as comfortable as possible against my shitty wall. Cait's psychotic struggling isn't exactly a perfect lullaby, though. I attempt to nap, but within a few minutes, she's screeching at the top of her lungs. Lunatic I think to myself silently. Sitting here seems to go on for hours until Cait finally stops struggling and begins breathing heavily. A quiet "Fuck" comes out of her manic mouth, and she stops moving altogether. She starts to scoot next to me 'The hell? Is she looking for a cuddle session? I move away from her as she moves closer.

She stops moving and starts talking, "Are you the woman who knocked me on the floor just a while ago?" I don't reply, if she's looking for an apology I'm not giving one and if she's looking to be friendly I'm not interested. We sit in silence for a few seconds until she opens her dumbass mouth again,

"I know it's you. Don't try to pretend it isn't, I'm not stupid. I saw you getting mouthy with Tommy, I'm sure you've figured out by now that he doesn't take shit from anyone. You want to 10 get out of here, right?" I consider her words for a minute. If she wanted to get out, wouldn't she have done it by now? This'll probably end up with me dead in an alley but I push her idea anyway,

"Maybe."

Cait scoffs. "I know you do, this place is hell, an' believe me I've been in some pretty god-awful places. He'll have you boxing every night for the rest of your life until someone's bloodied your nose for the last time, an' you'll be thrown out back to the radroaches. All that dick cares about is caps, caps, an' more caps." her voice makes me want to slam my head against the wall until I break through it.

"Get to the point."

"I was, don't get impatient. I've been here a long time, and I know my way around, made some 'friends,' that sort of thing. I got word there're two 10 millimeters under the bar counter, all we have to do is wait till everyone leaves, break loose, grab the guns, and shoot our way out." This is the dumbest idea I've ever heard.

"Are you fucking stupid? There's bound to be four times more Raiders than us guarding the entrance, armed way better than we can ever defend ourselves against."

"Exactly. That's where we get our real defenses and truck right outside through the Commons to wherever the hell you choose."

I sigh under my sack. "Fine, when do all the assholes leave?" I ask without real sentiment.

"When all the lights go out, and you can't hear anythin' more than the shufflin' of Tommy. I have a feelin' it'll be real soon." "I'll be waiting. Not like I have anything better to do." I snuggle against my wall again, closing my eyes. We sit there in silence, soon was right, almost immediately I hear the clapping of boots against the hard floor, and soon I can only hear the humming of artificial light and that dick ghoul walking around his palace of suffering. Next is the woosh of the lights cutting off simultaneously. Cait immediately moves close to me and puts her head near my bound hands, signaling for me to take off her hood. I grasp at the ground, grabbing the burlap blinder, and pulling it off her head. I do the same as her, and she returns the favor. As soon as the sack is off my head, my sight isn't much better. It's near pitch black in here. I knew this escapade would never work. Cait makes some weird noises then places her free hands on my wrists. The pressure against them is once again relieved, she must have blindly cut them with a knife, I guess that gives me some trust for her. She spends a few minutes feeling around my body for ropes and cutting them when she discovers a new one. Once all my bonds meet the edge of her blade, I place a hand on the cold, unforgiving floor and put all my weight on it, attempting to get up. My entire arm shakes, and every ounce of pressure sends a jolt of pain through it. Suddenly, Cait carefully grasps my hand in the dark, a gentle touch feels foreign to me now, but also somewhat unbelievable. This woman was ready to murder me just a few hours ago, and now, she treats me like a saint. Strange, the bitch must have a severe multiple personality disorder.

She lifts me, and I try to hold in the screams attempting to rip themselves from my body. The 11 shaking becomes more intense, and my nervous system begs for relief. I ignore its pleas and allow Cait to bring me all the way to my feet. Even when I've completely risen, she continues to hold my hand. What, do you want to cross the street with mommy now? She starts to pull me across the room, not like the man before, but with a guiding purpose radiating through her body to mine. The floor creaks with nearly every step, almost like a warning. No matter how softly I step on its wooden bones, this building seems to want to keep us held prisoner. Cait stops abruptly, and I soon see why.

Light breaks through the darkness, creeping ever so slowly into our safehouse of shadow. Cait's gentle tugging turns into swift pulling to my left, then down, tucking us under cover. The light touches her, and I see those shamrock green eyes twitch with fear. Her grip tightens, but not to the point where it's painful, almost like she seeks comfort in my touch. Her head quickly ducks under our cover; I immediately do the same. It must be Tommy, or she wouldn't be this scared. Something tells me this isn't her first attempt at escape. I reach for Skullcracker, but I find no comfort in the space that shouldn't occupy my back. That jackass who knocked me over the head must've stolen him from me. I'm at the mercy of some shitty pistol, of course. Cait makes another abrupt, but a significantly more risky movement towards the bar, dashing behind cover the whole time. The room we were kept as prisoners in connects to the taproom via creaky wooden boards. Just my luck. Cait rushes up to them, again without warning. I'm tempted to let go of her sweaty, pulsing hand, but decide not to. I place all my trust in her as she manages not to make a sound moving across those stupid boards. I make large strides as to not remain on the boards longer than needed, and soon we are under cover of the bar counter. Just as Cait's buddy claimed, the two glimmering pistols sat right in one of the cubbies that usually housed alcohol, along with three boxes of bullets. Cait grabs them both, handing me one and a single box of shells, keeping the other two for herself. I don't dare to load the gun yet; Tommy would surely hear the click and immediately send one of his bitches to kill us both.

Cait moves with near inhuman speed, crouching, and pulling me along with her once more, she lands us right in the center of the room, on the stairs leading to the exit, once we're under cover of darkness once more, she rises and runs towards the door, releasing my hand. I'm not sure if I should feel abandoned or over-trusted. I follow her as she makes her way right up to the door. When she opens it, moonlight washes over us, along with the brisk night air. I inhale deeply, smiling. Cait wastes no time celebrating her freedom and brings up her gun, crouching and aiming at one of the guards.

Before she makes her shot, I notice something glisten on his back. I squint, and my vision focuses. Two saw blades and the shape of a baseball bat make it through the night, and rage fills my body. How fucking dare he? My hand begins to shake to the beat of my anger, and I raise it to my other hand that now holds my gun. I point it straight at his head and shoot, the recoil barely phasing me. The bullet rips through the night, and then through his skull. He falls to the ground, satisfaction. The echo of my shot alerts the other raiders to our presence, but I don't care. I run to Skullcracker's location, ignoring Cait's "Wait!"

Skullcracker isn't a very fashionable accessory to this man's corpse, so I remove it from his body, what a favor I'm doing him, he probably couldn't even swing correctly. I caress the bat's body, running my fingers down the shaft up to the tip, then grasping the handle with immense joy. Smiling, I inhale deeply, bringing the bat off the ground. I rise slowly, awaiting the arrival of the Raiders moving in rapidly to my location. As soon as I'm at full height, I hear the clicks of multiple guns to my left. I swing Skullcracker over my shoulder and bite my lip, looking right into the eyes of the Raider directly in front of me. 12 "Hello, gentlemen, looking to have some fun?" I say just before the biggest guy rushes up to me. I swing my bat softly to the middle of my back, then just as he attempts to tackle me, I slam it right into his temple. There's a sickening crack just before he falls, and time stands still while I assess my situation. Two other guys are rushing towards me, didn't they learn their lesson from their friend here?

They reach me, and I prepare another swing, while he raises the butt of his gun, Skullcracker's twin saw blades hit him right in the stomach. He clutches the site of the attack, screaming as I rip the bat out of him and drive my foot into his buddy's crotch. Without a care, I slam my aluminum bat right on top of his skull. They both drop, and I once again hear a Raider moving towards me. I whip my head in the sound's direction to see him stop dead in his tracks, lifting both his hands, dropping his gun, and stepping backward. He falls back in tune with the gunshot ringing in my head. I turn around to see Cait's pistol smoking, still pointed in the now dead man's direction. She brings the tip to her lips and blows it, then places it in her holster. I drop my arms to the side, letting Skullcracker's top hit the ground, "Aw, I was going to smash his face open!" I whine, Cait rolls her eyes and moves towards me.

"You were having just a lil' too much fun killin' those guys, weren't you?"

"Just honoring the sport." I move around my baseball bat, and Cait laughs,

"So, where we goin'?" she asks. I completely forgot about my entire objective until now, and before the memories can rush back, I put a dam right over my feels and allow,

"Atom Cats Garage." to burst out.

"Ugh, we're visiting those tools? Why not Diamond City to get a scotch?" she bitches. Thanks for insulting my only friends, really appreciate it, you drunken bastard.

"Look, it's important. Just trust me." I realize now that's a hard favor to ask, but we've gotten this far out the door, right? Why not run out into the wild blindly? She waits a few moments before responding, and my heart beats quickly before her answer.

"Done." she puts her hands on her sides, waiting for my next move.

"I'm flattered." I fake smile, God; I don't want some puppy following me around, especially a mini me stealing my thunder. Maybe an extra gun would be helpful, even if it means dragging some co-chem addict across the wastes. Whatever, I've still got the option of leaving her somewhere if she gets too annoying.

I look behind me, assessing my options of travel. There's a set of metal stairs to my right, and a path empty except for a few crumbled buildings to my left. Directly behind me, what I assume is east, lies a rusted car and a lamp post. Being knocked over the head twice is just a bit disorienting, so my current location is a bit of a mystery. I head east, putting one foot in front of another slowly checking every corner and blind spot near me. Cait follows, mimicking my cautious pace. Once the coast is clear, I start to run, avoiding any potential tripping or fumbling. A large dilapidated wall comes into view, Ah, cover, I think to myself. I move quicker to reach my destination sooner, not wasting time to allow Cait to catch up. I slam my back against the wall, breathing heavily. I look to my left; there's yet another intersection, housing almost the same objects as the last. Straight seems like my best option, so I turn to face forward. Cait is near nose to nose with me, at least try to keep your tent in your pants, why don't you? I sigh and move my face out of hers.

Talking around here is just as suicidal as sending off rapid gunfire, which is something I frequently do, now that I think about it. I continue on my path, scanning over and over for cover or danger. Forty feet away is a red car with its hood popped open. I make yet another mad dash for cover, ignoring the fact that my heart is threatening to burst out of my chest. Just as I'm about to reach the automobile, a small rock rolls under my boot, the scuffing noise sends a panic throughout my body, and I'm sent off balance. I counter my inertia heading backward by leaning forward with nothing but sheer force and all the weight of my body. My arms fly out in instinct as I catch my previously stolen balance. Teetering out in the open, vulnerable, isn't exactly a wanted position, but I'd rather be up and ready to kill than on my ass even more stunned than I am currently. As soon as my feet are flat on the ground, I take off once more, in even worse of a panic than before. I begin to bend my knees with every inch I move closer to that saint-like car. I almost skid past it when I make it there, but slam my bottom onto the ground just before the front of the car. Right when I lay my head back on the license plate, I hear hysterical screeching far behind me, accompanied by a horror-inducing shake that echoes throughout my bones. I try to slow my breathing as the noise grows ever closer, suppressing every ounce of anxiety that wreaks havoc on my system. The screaming moves at what seems like one hundred miles an hour towards me. My limbs begin to retreat towards my torso, and the "THUMP" "THUMP" becomes more and more rapid. The screams are right in my ear now; I peek for just a second to find out who could be making such an awful, alien sound. I spot signature cage armor over what looks like a classic pair of road leathers, coated in blood. Raiders, as always. For some reason, they don't even stop to check my hiding spot. The group turns rapidly, but one of them faces the same fate I did not moments ago, except he falls right onto his gas-mask-covered face. He reaches out in hope foolishly but is quickly and expectedly abandoned by his gang-mates. That pleasant thumping suddenly stops, but its ceasing isn't celebrated.


End file.
